a Dance of a Different Sort
by asimbelmyne
Summary: Her breath fled from her lips in ragged gasps, red with rage, red with something she refused to name, and red with a longing as electrified as the space between them, begging to be breeched.


_"Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?"_

 _―Patricia Highsmith_

* * *

By the time Rey had managed to slip into her room unnoticed, she had grown weary of fake smiles. Her mouth ached from reciprocating so many, pulled taut like a string on the cusp of snapping, throbbing faintly in the shelter of her doorframe as though she'd been kissed. She had always been resolute in her decisions, unafraid to speak her mind, defiant of those who wished to wield words against her own, yet something in her had changed. The flame she had spent so much time in kindling had begun to die away, falling from her fingers like sand. She couldn't find it in herself to be dishonest, to pretend that her heart hadn't been split in half, held together by a thread so thin she could barely feel it. She had become a caricature of her former self, embodying the last vestiges of hope itself, a beacon of light surrounded by a darkness too terrible to fathom.

She had grown to understand it, diving so deep that she had lost all sense of purpose, all sense of self, and all sense of direction, losing a piece of her soul somewhere along the way. She had never felt so alone in all of her life. Leia had tried her best to understand, lending her strength in the same way that she'd share smiles, but the outcome had always been the same. When Leia smiled at her, she'd see nothing but pain. Luke's death had shaken her values in a way that Rey could barely comprehend. Her eyes spoke volumes in those moments, alight with a brightness she'd often attribute to wisdom, but when she'd look a little longer, noticing the distant haze in Leia's eyes, she'd realize where she had really been and why. The past continued to haunt her, slipping into almost everything she had done these past few years, fuelling her resolve. Rey had seen it before, trapped in the throes of a dance she hadn't known the steps to, encircled in the arms of a man who had been too interested in the cut of her dress to care about the Rebellion. Leia had smiled at her from across the room, yet her eyes had been as joyless as the music she had been swaying to, filled with tears.

Her feet had carried her away before she had been able to excuse herself.

Rey leaned back against the wall, clutching her shoes in one hand and the hem of her dress in the other. She couldn't deny that it was beautiful, spilling across her shoulders like starlight, chasing the darkness away. When she moved it moved with her, swinging around her legs in a wide arc, brushing against the floor as silently as her footsteps, one after the other. In it, she felt estranged from her past, living in denial of the girl she had once been. She didn't want to become a shadow, hiding somewhere far from the light, seeking solace in spaces so dark and empty that her heart would ache, places that weren't always as isolated as she had hoped they would be. She had spent so much time trying to appease everyone else, slipping into the shoes of someone she didn't know how to be, that she had neglected her sense of self. When she entered a room, all eyes would land on her, pinning her in place. She'd see Luke reflected in every stare, every handshake, and in every conversation, weighing her down.

She wanted to escape.

She let her shoes fall to the ground, threading her fingers through her hair, frowning as it fell around her shoulders like a curtain. Something inside of her heart had clicked into place, stealing her breath away. Her thoughts felt far more accessible than they'd usually be, filling her head with words quite unlike her own, resonating on a level she refused to acknowledge. Kylo Ren had made himself at home there, sinking his fingers around every stray thought of hers until they seemed to blur together, becoming one. She hated herself for letting him in so easily, for allowing him to creep into her mind as though he had every right to be there, fitting somewhere amongst the brambles and the thorns like a rose, perfectly placed. Her breath fled from her lips in ragged gasps, red with rage, red with something she refused to name, and red with a longing as electrified as the space between them, begging to be breeched.

"Not now," she said, meeting his eyes from across the room. "Not here."

He looked at her the way that Leia had looked at her before, suppressing something she wasn't able to give a voice to, eyes brimming with emotion. She wanted to run away, to stare at something other than his freckles, something other than his mouth, something other than his dark brown eyes, yet the urge to observe him remained.

"Where are you?" he asked, ignoring her plea, taking a step towards her.

"Far away."

"I can see that," he said, closing the distance between them. "You look different."

He stood in front of her now, close enough to count all of her freckles, allowing his eyes to flit across her face. She felt self-conscious, acutely aware of every little stare he was giving her and how he was making her feel. She could see the concern in his eyes, how bright it seemed in contrast with all of the brown, spreading across his features as slowly as a wild fire, consuming everything in its path.

"You don't know anything," she hissed under her breath, feeling for the wall. One of her shoes connected with his foot, cast aside as easily as her inhibitions, flying across the room. His breath brushed against her mouth, spilling across her lips in an attempt to mix with her own, filling her with a feeling too wild and too untamed to understand.

"You haven't made it very difficult. You're like an open book. Every time I close my eyes, you're there. You feel everything so deeply, so _sincerely_ , and it's driving me mad."

"I can't help how I feel―"

"Neither can I," he said, allowing her to see how painful all of this was for him, how irritated he felt for letting her escape, and how much he wished she'd simply disappear.

"I didn't ask for this! You chose your path and I chose mine. I watched you turn your back on everything you loved, and you ceased to be Ben Solo once more."

His eyes looked different after that, burning in the space she'd made between them like an inferno, brimming with knowledge she wished he hadn't known, but it was all there, staring her right in the face. She could see everything in his stare, how angry she looked and how bright she seemed, shining in the dark like a spark, fiery, defiant, and beautiful, things he'd never say out loud. Her mouth fell open, embodying her shame, her lack of control, and how little she wanted to admit. He made her feel as though she were dancing again, swaying to a song she liked as little as the one before, guiding her down a path she had no wish in following. His resolve seemed strong, strong enough to lead her through another dance, but his heart was a tortured thing, bruised beyond repair. She thought she had seen it once before, balanced between his fingers in the moments before Luke had lost his mind, but that moment had been lost. She felt like Leia, forced to endure the echoes of her actions for the rest of time, stuck in place when all she really wanted to do was run.

"Don't look at me like that," she said at last, refusing to meet his stare. "You mean nothing to me."

His eyes flared in anger at that, fizzling in the darkness like his lightsaber, completely unhinged. "That's a lie."

"It's the truth," she persisted angrily, folding her fingers into her dress. "The man I thought I saw is gone. There's nothing but darkness in you, darkness and hate. You've made yourself miserable in your search for power, and now that you have it, you're miserable still. You've thrown away everything that ever mattered, _everything_ , and I'll never forgive you for it."

"Is that so? That's not what I see."

"I don't care and I don't want to know!" she cried, reaching out to push him away, ignoring how strong he felt beneath her hands.

He continued to speak and she continued to push, driving him across her room until his back hit the wall on the other side, forcing the air from his lungs. The look he gave her sent chills down her spine, staining her cheeks until they were as red as her lips, flushed from exertion. She wanted to scream at him, demanding that he leave, but she knew that it would only serve to make him stay. His hands found her arms and lingered there, plastered to her bare skin like her dress was, folding into every curve as though he belonged there, way too close and way too hot. His warmth bled into her skin, fuelling her rage, fuelling the fire she had kindled long ago, and for the first time in many months, she felt whole.

"You're afraid of being alone, you're afraid that you'll never live up to Luke's expectations, and you're afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of you!"

"Then why do I make you so uncomfortable? Why won't you look at me? You're lying, Rey."

Her anger had turned to tears. She could feel them streaming down her face in hot rivulets, dripping down her chin and onto the fabric of her dress. "Get out," she said flatly, gripping his shirt so hard that she thought it would rip. "Get out, get out, get out!"

"Rey, please―"

"Get out of my head!" she cried once more, pounding her fists against his chest until she felt nothing but air, nothing but the wall beneath her hands, bruising her knuckles until they had begun to throb.

She hated him for knowing how she felt, and hated herself for being so weak. Her compassion for him would be her undoing, unravelling all of her plans and every shred of resolve that remained in her body. She couldn't shake the intensity of his stare, how angry he had been with her, how reckless he had become in the time that they had spent apart, and how stupid he had been to have slipped into her head in the first place. He had become her enemy, and in return, she had become his. She'd never know Ben Solo. She'd never see him smile as though he'd meant it, never see his eyes crinkle a bit at the edges, never taste his lips, never duel with him in jest, and never feel his skin against her own. She'd always be at odds with Kylo Ren.

His eyes haunted her thoughts and she was reminded of Leia, staring at her with a look on her face that could only be described as pity.

She'd always be engaged in a dance of a different sort.

* * *

 **A/N:** For jamiegallantworld on Tumblr, who wanted to see Rey in a dress and Kylo Ren standing there awkwardly, speechless. I'm of the mind that my version's a bit on the angsty side. I'd like to apologize for that! I love romance, but this became a hot, miserable mess instead. If you find yourself reading this, thank you for inspiring me! This is for you, wherever you are.


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